What Do YOU Know?
by strangertrack
Summary: [in prog] Nagi's used to his role as telekinetic, assassin, and Crawford's bedmate. Then Omi comes along and raises some questions. BradNagi, OmiNagi
1. Chapter 1

DICLAIMER: Weiss Kreuz and its characters do not belong to me.  
  
PAIRINGS: Crawford/Nagi, later Omi/Nagi  
  
//_telepathic thoughts_//  
  
  


**What Do YOU Know?  
Chapter 1**

  
  
Beads of sweat rolled off his forehead, dropping down on me. Normally cold, narrowed eyes were darkened with passion as he thrust into me at an increasing pace. I couldn't help the occasional whimpers and moans that escaped from the back of my throat, mingling with his harsh breathing.  
  
Suddenly, the fingers on my shoulders clenched as he gave one last push, and the familiar sensation of his cum filled me, signaling the end of his climax. Body relaxing, he remained in me as he lay on top, crushing me with his weight. I could easily have used my talent to lift part of his weight off, but to tell the truth, I liked the feel of him pressing down on me, pinning me into the mattress. It was comforting, his presence surrounding me completely and blocking out everything else but him. Any pain and discomfort from the actual act was worth it for those few precious moments right after sex.  
  
Too soon, he pulled out, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and reaching over for his glasses. I watched him as he bent over to pick up his clothes, noticing how the smooth muscles contracted, and marveling once more that a human could have such grace and fluidity in even the simplest of movements.  
  
Not that any of us were normal human beings, him least of all. He really did seem untouchable, like a God. Never faltering, all-knowing. Even months of intimate involvement with him never revealed flaws or vulnerabilities to mar his perfect image.  
  
"Are you going to put something on or just lie there watching me?" he asked wryly, as he finished dressing by buttoning up his collared shirt.  
  
"I have nowhere to go," I replied smartly, settling back into the pillows and gazing up at him even more blatantly.  
  
"Still, you might want to put something on," he said in a tone that commanded, rather than suggested.  
  
"Why?"  
  
He didn't need to answer. Schuldig burst in without so much as knocking.  
  
Annoyed, I pulled up the sheets up to cover myself and glared at him from my bed. We may be teammates but I expect a certain degree of privacy in my own room.  
  
"Stop whining and get in here," Schuldich snapped, turning to yank the figure behind him into the room with him.  
  
"Weiss!" I exclaimed, startled.  
  
Crawford remained nonplussed, looking calm and composed.  
  
"Your prisoner," Schuldich drawled, kicking so the captured assassin went sprawling in an clumsy heap at Crawford's feet. "Rather annoying, this one. He won't stop it with his pathetic whimpers."  
  
Schuldich smiled nastily, nasal tones taking on a mockingly high tone. "_Not again. Why does this always happen to me? I don't want to die. I didn't do anything to deserve this. Help me, Ken. Aya. Yohji. Anyone. Father, why'd you abandon me?_ Blah blah blah. Gott, he won't shut up."  
  
During his tirade, Weiss' eyes got even more impossibly big as he scooted away from us, until he bumped into the edge of my desk. There he curled into a protective ball, as if that would somehow shield him from us.  
  
He caught me looking and stared back, eyes shining with tears as if silently pleading for help. Help from an enemy, hah! This kid was so pathetic.  
  
"Why's he in my room?" I scowled heavily. "Take him to yours."  
  
"No way, chibi. I have a fucking headache and he's going to keep me up all night with his thoughts." He paused and smirked, striding over and crouching by the boy. "Maybe I should put him with Farfarello," he directed at us, but while gazing intently at Weiss, who whimpered in obvious protest.  
  
Schuldig laughed cruelly. "Yes, that'll be just lovely, wouldn't it? You can spend the night having designs carved into that perfect skin of yours." He caressed the boy's cheek at the last part.  
  
"Schuldig, enough," Crawford stated. "He's to remain here." Circumventing my protest, he added, "Nagi, deal with it. You don't have a say in the matter."  
  
One thing about a man like Crawford — sleeping with him didn't guarantee any special treatment.  
  
So I bit back an angry retort as they exited, leaving me with the Weiss kitten. Wasn't it enough that I did my duties without complaint? I didn't sign up to be some sort of fucking baby-sitter.  
  
"Have fun, you two," Schuldig purred, just before he slammed the door shut behind him.  
  
"Screw you!" A book hurled itself at the closed door.  
  
The Weiss kitten was unmoving, paralyzed with a fear that I hadn't noticed during our usual battles. This was an assassin? Snorting, I flipped over and turned my back on him to face the wall.  
  
Semen leaked slowly out of me onto my thighs and pooling onto the sheets. All Crawford's because I never came, not in all the times he had taken my body. He didn't mind. It meant no messes on him to clean up.  
  
He went away looking his perfect, untouchable self while I lay entwined in filthy sheets soiled with his bodily fluids, the smell of sex and something that was uniquely him permeating the entire room and marking me as his territory.  
  
Sighing, I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep.  
  
-----  
  
The next thing I knew, I woke up gasping for air.  
  
The kitten had claws, after all.  
  
Pity he forgot who he was dealing with. I flung him off of me and telekinetically slammed him into the wall. Expensive paintings that Crawford had hung up rattled and fell to the floor.  
  
//_If you're going to play, play quiety._// Schuldig chided me sleepily. //_That's my wall, too._//  
  
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I demanded to know, kicking aside the blankets and stalking up to him, heedless of my state of undress.  
  
He struggled uselessly as I held him there with my powers, his eyes blazing with hate. Funny how he wasn't scared of me, as he was of the others. Even knowing what I was capable of, his mind couldn't accept the fact that the quiet fifteen-year-old boy in front of him, nakedness displaying a small and slight frame, was someone to be feared. I would have to correct that misconception.  
  
"Let me go," he demanded forcefully.  
  
I extended my hand toward his throat, letting ghostly fingers curl around the tender flesh. Bruises broke out instantly as veins ruptured. He choked and thrashed in pain.  
  
"You are nothing," I intoned in my best imitation of Crawford, tightening the grip. "I won't hesitate to kill you if you try anything funny so I suggest you behave."  
  
Giving one last squeeze, I let him drop.  
  
He doubled over, simultaneously gasping for air and coughing up blood, causing him to choke. He didn't resist as I snapped a handcuff around one wrist and stood contemplating where to attach the other end.  
  
There was nothing that couldn't be lifted, moved, or broken, except the bedpost. The wood was strong enough to withstand even the most frantic struggles, I knew from experience. What can I say? Crawford liked games of dominance, even in bed.  
  
But that would mean he would have to sleep on the floor with his arm raised, not the most comfortable of positions. That, or lie down next to me.  
  
"If you don't let me go, I'm going to kill you," Weiss rasped, ending my indecision.  
  
The hell with his comfort.  
  
"Ambitious words for someone in your position," I said scornfully, yanking him harshly toward the bottom end of the bed. On second thought, I looped the chain through the boards and secured the other cuff to his other wrist, vastly limiting his freedom of movement.  
  
Since I was up anyway, I decided to change the sheets, gathering them up and tossing them in a ball in the corner to wash tomorrow. I smoothed on new, freshly starched ones before turning to go to the attached bathroom.  
  
There was red blotches around my neck, and I fingered the sore spots. Luckily, they were low enough that the high collar of my usual school uniform would cover them. Crawford would pitch a fit if he saw them, first for letting my guard down around an enemy and secondly for letting someone else get their hands on me.  
  
They weren't too bad though. His specialty was long-range weapons, not bare hand strangulation.  
  
Satisfied that the bruises were superficial and would fade in a few days, I stepped into the shower. I twisted the knobs and let the hot water course over me.  
  
More alert now, my mind was focused on the central question: why was he here?  
  
It wasn't information because Schuldig could easily pull that out of any one of Weiss' minds without resorting to kidnapping. And it wasn't for his own amusement because Schuldig had clearly been following Crawford's orders.  
  
I squeezed shampoo into my hands and lathered up, working the tangles out of the fine locks of hair.  
  
Or maybe Crawford was following Taketori's order, although I couldn't see what connection he could have to the boy. And even if that _was_ the case, wasn't it better to hold him at one of Taketori's many estates, rather than the Schwarz stronghold?  
  
Well, whatever was going on, I'd find out soon enough. And if not, well, I trusted Crawford to know what he was doing.  
  
After finishing the rest of my shower quickly, I toweled off and slipped into a long-sleeved shirt and flannel bottoms — my makeshift pajamas.  
  
He was still awake when I came out, straining against his bonds in a futile attempt to break free. Schuldig must have patted him down earlier for darts or anything else he might have improvised with to pick the lock.  
  
He stopped immediately as he saw me and followed my movements with a hooded glare. Quite a switch from the wounded kitty act when he first arrived.  
  
"Get some rest," I advised wearily as I settled into bed once more, vaguely disgruntled at the clean scent of soap and laundry detergent scouring away that of Crawford. "You'll probably need it."  
  
Even as I took my own advice, I could see him grit his teeth in pain as he rubbed skin across metal once more.  
  
  
tbc...  
----------  
June 8, 2002 


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks goes to **Amanda, Koyuki Aode, Jayne, newtypeshadow, pink bunny, Taline, christina, Ash, MistyEyes,** and **Yuki Fuyumi**. I'll try and email back thanks from now on, so if you leave an anonymous review, make sure to leave a contact!  
  
DICLAIMER: Weiss Kreuz and its characters do not belong to me.  
  
//_telepathic thoughts_//  
  
  


**What Do YOU Know?  
Chapter 2**

  
  
Using telekinesis is like exercising any other muscle in my body. With the rush of adrenaline coursing through my vein during a mission, I hardly notice how much strain I'm putting on myself. It seems limitless, this bottomless well of power that only I could tap into.  
  
There's a certain rush from being able to effortlessly move large objects, slam enemies against the walls, or exercise finer control with something like unlocking doors, but there's also a price.  
  
The aftereffects hit me hours later, barely noticeable at first but quickly degenerating my body and making me tired and sluggish. My mind shuts down, figuring that if I wasn't conscious, I couldn't push myself too far.  
  
Or so I theorize; it sounds logical enough. But then, there's nothing logical about psi talents to begin with. For all I know, it could be completely random. If I was inclined toward religion, I could even argue that it was God's way of tempering our natural advantage, for Crawford and Schuldig each had unique drawbacks to their talents as well.  
  
What I had used on Weiss wasn't nearly the extent of what I could do, but it left me feeling a bit drained nevertheless. So it wasn't surprising to find that I was the last one up and about.  
  
Crawford was lingering over coffee while perusing the daily paper. He was halfway into the business section, already finished sections of the newspaper neatly folded on the table to his left. Schuldig was rinsing dishes. Farfarello wasn't present, which meant that he was in his cell, forcibly restrained because he was in one of his more dangerous moods, or by choice because he wanted to be alone. Personal space was something we all cherished, some more than others.  
  
"Good morning," I greeted as I entered the kitchen.  
  
Crawford acknowledged my presence with a crisp, "Morning," and a nod of his head, then turned back to his reading.  
  
I got out a clean bowl and spoon, set them on the counter, and reached into the cabinet, tiptoeing slightly. When I landed back on my heels with the box of cereal, I was startled to see Schuldig had finished his chore and was standing extremely close to me.  
  
I glanced at him questioningly, wondering what he wanted.  
  
"Ne, Nagi-chan," he teased, slinking closer to give off an intimate air. Stray strands of orange-red hair tickled my face and I fought off the urge to sneeze.  
  
"I had so much trouble sleeping last night because of you."  
  
If he was disappointed by my lack of reaction, he didn't show it. Lazily, he trailed a finger along my cheekbone, following the curve down to my throat. "I know I told you to have fun," he purred, a telepathic echo in my mind making his words sound more sensual, "but did you have to be so..." he planted his palm flat on my chest "...rough?"  
  
Schuldig concluded the sentence by giving me a shove, although not a particularly forceful one. I caught myself from stumbling back and shot him a dirty look as he threw back his head and laughed.  
  
"You sure were banging the kitten hard," he snickered, throwing himself into his chair. "I hope he didn't leave imprints in the wall."  
  
I ignored the double entendre, refusing to be goaded into a useless argument. Instead, I finished preparing my breakfast, pouring an inch and a half of milk, then filling it nearly to the brim with Cheerios. It was less soggy this way, and the satisfying crunch made up somewhat for the lack of taste.  
  
I took my usual seat to the right of Crawford and across from Schuldig and dug in.  
  
"Che, it's no fun when you don't react," he complained good-naturedly, waving a hand in the air for emphasis. His eyes flicked over to Crawford, who hadn't paid any heed to our... exchange, for lack of better term. "Either of you."  
  
"Why don't you talk to Farfarello?" I suggested dryly, fishing out cereal from the bottom before they soaked up too much milk. I wasn't fond of dairy products, and could stand them only in small doses.  
  
"He wants to meditate," Schuldig grumbled, raking a hand through his hair. "Think of all the wrongs God has committed against him to channel his anger or some crap. Can you believe that?" He gave a short bark of disbelief. "As if there _is_ a God."  
  
"People hold different beliefs," I replied calmly, although I secretly agreed with him. "There's no way to prove one is right and another not."  
  
"Kid, we're the closest things to gods on Earth," Schuldig spread his arms out, indicating us. "We're practically invincible. Soon, not even Esset will be able to touch us."  
  
"That's correct," Crawford cut in smoothly, apparently feeling this was a good opportunity to lecture us. "But until that time, we have to be careful to hide how powerful we truly are. And that means working together as a team."  
  
"Aye, aye captain." Schuldig gave a mock salute, but a genuine grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. And if I had a mirror, I know I'd see the same expression on my own face. Ultimate freedom from Esset's thumb... that would be a triumphant day indeed. With them out of the way, Schwarz would be unstoppable. No one would be able to tell me what to do, or hurt me ever again.  
  
And I had no doubt Crawford would deliver what he promised. He was never wrong.  
  
//_It's so cute whenever you think about Brad..._//  
  
"...your thoughts tastes like honey," Schuldig finished out loud. "All warm and glowy and sweet and sticky like molasses," he elaborated. "It's almost sickening, really."  
  
"Then stay out of my mind," I said coolly, trying to keep the blush from heating my face. I erected my mental barriers and started counting prime numbers. 1. 2. 3. 5. 7. 11. 13. 17. 19. 23. 29. 31. 37.  
  
It was a trick Crawford had taught me to hide information from telepaths. Unlike counting by ones, it required enough focus so my mind couldn't wander to other topics and give me away. It wouldn't work indefinitely, but I could hold out enough to bore Schuldig.  
  
Sure enough, his presence in my mind disappeared.  
  
And into another.  
  
Crawford and I exchanged glances as Schuldig doubled over and dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter. It wasn't that unusual to for him to smirk or make a wise comment when reading thoughts, but this? Whatever he was hearing must have been very amusing indeed.  
  
"What is it?" I finally asked, giving in to curiosity.  
  
"The kitten," he gasped out.  
  
"What about him?" I asked, slightly irritated by this point. "He's locked up in my room. What's so funny about that?"  
  
Schuldig snickered. "Yes, all chained up to Nagi's bed."  
  
"I didn't want him to escape! If—"  
  
"Tell me, Nagi," he interrupted. "When do you think he's last had the opportunity to use the bathroom?"  
  
I frowned, thinking it over. "Well— Oh shit." My eyes grew wide as I realized what he was implying. "You don't mean—"  
  
"Yes! He's about to piss his pants!" Schuldig said gleefully.  
  
Gah, stupid Schuldig. Couldn't he warn me earlier instead of wasting the time laughing his ass off?  
  
I hastily ran toward my room, fishing the key from the pocket even as I reached the door. Weiss was squirming uncomfortably, his legs crossed and locked. I might have found the scene funny if it wasn't _my_ floor he was sitting on, and _me_ that would have to clean up any messes.  
  
His wrists were chafed, dried blood only partially masking the angry burn marks on the back of his hands. It looked as if he had peeled a couple layers of skin off before giving up. Even dislocating his thumb wouldn't have worked. The handcuffs were specially made to fit me, snugly I might add, and my wrists were thinner than his.  
  
The left cuff opened with a click and I disentagled it from the board and stepped back to give him room.  
  
"Bathroom's there," I pointed, in case he hadn't noticed yesterday night.  
  
He stood up quickly, then stumbled, the lack of circulation causing his legs to fold. I caught him, cushioning the weight with telekinesis.  
  
He tried to push me away, resentment and embarrassment burning in his eyes before he turned his face away. But he was too tired from our previous tussle, the lack of sleep and distress of being captured to fight back. He gave in, leaning against me as I tugged him into the small room.  
  
It was pathetic. I almost felt pity for him then. Maybe even sympathy. If I were in his place, the humiliation would be worse than any other torture they could think of. To accept help from an enemy, and be dependent on their goodwill... hell, I'd prefer they just kill me.  
  
But that's just me.  
  
I helped him to stand in front of the toilet, holding him steady until he regained his own balance. Once I was sure he wouldn't collapse, I stepped back out and shut the door behind me, hoping he could manage the rest by himself. There was no way I was doing anything else.  
  
He urinated, flushed, and turned on the tap, a pause between each action. He was certainly moving slowly.  
  
I frowned. Was it a mistake to leave him there unsupervised? There were no windows or vents large enough to fit his body through, but that didn't mean he wasn't searching for a weapon to gouge my eyes out with.  
  
"Hey are you done? Hurry it up," I called, masking unease with impatience.  
  
If he _was_ up something, Crawford would have seen it happening, wouldn't he? Weiss could easily be washing up and tending his injuries.  
  
The water didn't stop.  
  
"Alright, I'm coming in," I warned, then seized the knob.  
  
It was locked.  
  
"Fuck. Open up, damnit! This isn't going to help!"  
  
I jiggled the doorknob, waiting for an answer that never came. With a disgusted sigh, I closed my eyes, trying to feel the inner workings of the lock mechanism so that I could work it open.  
  
"What the..." I jumped back, socked feet cold and soaking wet. Water was slipping out the crack at a rapid rate. Something was _definitely_ wrong.  
  
"Screw this." I stood out of the way, then raised my hands in front of me. With a thought, the door blasted out of its hinges and into the bedroom, removing the obstacle in a messy but quick way.  
  
Water was overflowing the sides of the stopped sink, pooling onto the tiled floor and running out the threshold.  
  
And there, slumped facefirst into the flooded basin, was an unconscious Weiss.  
  
  
tbc...  
----------  
January 7, 2003 


End file.
